Patrimony
by Jupe-san
Summary: Kenshin and Kenji are more alike than they know. Giftfic for Super Sheba.
1. Storm

For those unaware, "patrimony" is an inheritance from a father or other ancestor.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Rurouni Kenshin or any related characters, concepts or ideas.

_Storm_  


Restless winds shifted branches and roof tiles, rice paper doors and wooden walls, dreams and nightmares and whispers of memories. Restless child tossed and turned and twisted and tumbled on a too-lumpy, too-cold, too-tall, too-empty futon. Restless parent strained ears for sounds of discontent muffled by shrieking gusts and crashing thunder.

And little feet padded frantically through the dojo halls.

"Okaa-san!"

Little hands gripped at a rice paper door.

"Okaaaaa-san!"

Little eyes, wide with fright, searched for someone to make the restless winds and restless night and too-empty futon disappear into warmth and safety.

But she wasn't there.

"Okaaaaa-saaaan!" Kenji wailed, fists clutching the edge of the shoji in white-knuckled grips as tears beaded at the corners of his round eyes.

Arms enfolded the waif, but they were the _wrong_ arms- too strong, too hard, too tentative, too different, too un-okaa-san-like.

"Shh, don't cry. Otou-san's here to keep you safe."

Kenji rebelled against his father's hold, kicking and squirming vehemently, unwilling to be placated by any but his mother.

"Otoooou-san! Le' Kenji go!" he demanded, protesting with his whole being.

The arms tightened a little, red hair dripping over the tiny shoulder as Kenji was brought back against the _wrong_ chest by the _wrong_ arms to the _wrong_ person.

"Shh," whispered the wrong voice, "Okaa-san's not here, but Otou-san is."

"Kenji don' _wan'_ Otou-san! Kenji wan' _Okaaaa-san_!" he stressed, the struggles slackening a little as he unconsciously resigned himself to his fate.

"I know, Kenji. Otou-san wants Okaa-san, too," the wrong voice admitted softly, soothingly.

"Otou-san, too?" Kenji asked with wonder in his voice, as though amazed that even Otou-san could be scared by a storm.

"Mhmm. Otou-san misses Okaa-san very much. But Okaa-san left to visit Misao-nee and Aoshi-nii on the new train this evening, and won't be back for a few days."

Kenji sniffled, slightly miffed that his mother had skipped out on him in favor of Misao-nee. But then again, Misao-nee was pretty. And nice. And she did sneak him the odd piece of western candy whenever she visited.

Maybe it was okay that Okaa-san was visiting Misao-nee and Aoshi-nii.

But he'd never forgive her for leaving him home alone with Otou-san.

Otou-san shifted slightly on his heels, bringing Kenji with him, closer to the ground and closer to the comfort of the still warm, though empty, futon.

"Otou-san don' like storms, too?"

A puff of air against his neck as Otou-san paused to think of an answer.

"No, Otou-san doesn't like storms. When Otou-san was very small, a little older than Kenji is, Otou-san was very scared of storms."

Small hands pushed against the wrong chest that wasn't looking so wrong anymore, round eyes wide as he strained to look at the face of the man who was never scared of anything except for Okaa-san.

"Really?"

A faint smile on the right face.

"Really. Would Kenji like to hear about it?"

Kenji made a noise of affirmation and snuggled back against the right chest to listen and to be comforted.

And outside, restless winds howled forlornly in harmony with the booming thunder.

* * *

There are mountains, and there is a house. 

There is a master, and there is a pupil.

And there is a storm.

The pupil, the child, no older than nine, lies on his futon and shivers in fear.

The master, the man, older than he looks and younger than he feels, sits on a cushion and sips sake. His eyes are narrowed in displeasure as he feels the waves of anxiety and apprehension from his pupil.

Thunder booms in the distance, and the anxiety spikes into mind-numbing terror, and the pupil throws open the shoji door and hurls himself into his master's arms, clutching at anything alive in desperation.

"Otou-san, Otou-san, Otou-san," the pupil whispers in a mantra, voice panicked and wheezing.

More thunder rumbles angrily, and the pupil squirms closer to the solid living rock.

"_Otou-san!_" he shrieks, sobbing in terror. The master glares at the wide fearful eyes, brimming with tears, that stare into his soul.

"I am not your Otou-san," he coldly informs the pupil, the boy, the child. The child clings to his gi resolutely.

"I know. I know I know _I know_. Otou-san is dead," he whispers vehemently, fat tears dripping down his face to fall onto clenched fists full of fabric.

The master seems confused.

"Then why do you call for your Otou-san?" he questions harshly, more harshly than intended. The pupil flinches and pauses before he answers.

"Otou-san died when there was thunder. But not even thunder was louder than his cries of pain," he whispers, confiding even deeper secrets hidden between the lines of a deep secret.

The master is silent for a moment.

"You hear him when there is thunder."

"Yes."

Silence, filled with understanding and intangible comfort.

And then there are strong arms around a weak body.

"Don't."

The pupil is stunned, limp in the embrace of his master, until he remembers who he is and what has been commanded of him. His wide, fearful eyes, full of remembered pain, soften slightly in the face of comfort.

"Hai."

And the thunder stops.

* * *

Kenji subconsciously curled against the right chest, whuffling softly in his sleep, having dropped off halfway through the narrative. 

Kenshin smiled softly, sadly, as he thanked the kami that he is here to comfort his son and that his son is not him.

And restless winds beat against the house while the rain pitter-pattered and the thunder growled in the distance.

---

Glossary:

Okaa-san - Mother

Otou-san - Father

Shoji - Rice paper door

Hai - Affirmation

--

AN: Happy birthday Mi-chan! May you receive many gifts and lovely things and eat lots of cake. Fwah.


	2. Sake

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Rurouni Kenshin or any related characters, concepts or ideas.

_Sake_

The air was fresh and clear after the storm of the previous day, and Kenji could almost taste the morning when he woke up. He rubbed his eyes with a clenched fist, sitting up on the empty futon in the too-big room.

_Otou-san,_ he remembered. _Otou-san tol' Kenji a story._

Smiling brightly, he kicked off the sheets and skittered down the hallways to the kitchen, because Otou-san was always in the kitchen in the morning.

"Otou-san!" he called out, just to hear the verbal reassurance.

"Good morning, Kenji. Did you sleep well?" Otou-san asked, smiling over his shoulder as he molded rice balls with sword-calloused hands.

Kenji nodded enthusiastically, feeling as fresh as the air outside.

"Mhmm! Kenji hun'ry!" he announced, attempting to peer over the counter and see what Otou-san was shaping the rice into.

A soft chuckle.

"Breakfast will be ready soon, Kenji. Why don't you go get dressed and wash your face while you wait?" Otou-san suggested.

Kenji's nose crinkled. "Kenji don' like wash face," he protested imperiously. Otou-san's dry look wiped the pout off of his face.

"Hai, hai! Kenji go," the child giggled shrilly, scampering through the halls to his room.

Kenshin shook his head fondly and returned to forming bunnies out of rice, occasionally stirring a pot of misoshiru.

"Oi, Kenshin! Is breakfast almost ready? I'm starved!"

And Kenshin sighed with mock exasperation as he set an extra place for the rooster.

"Good morning, Sanosuke. As I just told Kenji, breakfast will be ready soon. You can follow his example and go wash your face while you wait," Kenshin said dryly, casting a glance at his friend's face.

"Ha, ha, ha. Very funny, Kenshin. Hey, where's Jou-chan? She's usually out here with you," Sanosuke asked, looking around as though Kaoru would pop up from behind a pot at the slightest provocation.

"Ah, Kaoru is currently in Kyoto. I don't expect her back for a few days. She's to help Misao-san birth her firstborn," Kenshin clarified, arranging rabbit-shaped onigiri on a platter.

"And she left you alone with a kid that hates you? Geeze, she's cold-hearted!" Sanosuke said jokingly, punching Kenshin lightly on the arm.

Kenshin smiled softly. "Kenji does not hate me anymore, I think. He seemed happy enough this morning."

Just then, the object of their discussion burst into the kitchen, face shining and clothes as immaculate as a four-year-old can make them.

"Otou-san!" Kenji announced importantly, "Kenji clean!"

Kenshin's soft smile bloomed into a grin as he took in his son's appearance.

"So you are, Kenji. And, you're just in time- Otou-san just finished making breakfast," Kenshin said, setting the platter of rice balls on the low table.

A delighted smile and childish gasp of pleasure were his reward.

"Usagi! Otou-san can make bunnies? Is Otou-san a kami? Ne, ne, Otou-san, wha' soun' do usagi make?"

And the childish prattle continued at a speed too fast for the adults to comprehend as Kenji wiggled on his cushion and waited for the blessing.

"Kenji, you must be quiet if Otou-san is to say the blessing," Kenshin reminded him. Kenji quickly quieted.

Clapping his hands together and bowing in respect, Kenshin pronounced a well-received 'itadakimasu' and the breakfast began.

Between thoroughly chewed bites of onigiri and soft slurps of misoshiru, Kenji continued to regale his father with questions and very seriously declared facts, which usually weren't entirely factual.

Halfway through the meal, Sanosuke withdrew a gourd of sake from his voluminous jacket and took a swig. Kenji was transfixed.

"Ne, ne, Sano-san, wha's tha'?"

Kenshin glared at the freeloader who was leaning conspiratorially towards the younger Himura.

"This?" he asked, holding out the gourd. Kenji nodded emphatically. Sano leaned in even closer, whispering loudly into Kenji's ear. "This is a magic jug, okay Kenji? Whenever I drink out of it, I get one centimeter taller. That's why I'm so tall, see? I bet your otou-san never had a magic jug, and that's why he's so shor-"

A loud cough and a slightly golden glare silenced his speculations.

"Er, maybe not. But that's what it is," he chuckled nervously, straightening himself and popping another rabbit into his mouth to end the discussion.

Kenji's eyes were round.

"Do magi' jugs make _Kenji_ taller?" he asked in wonder, looking between the two men at the table for answers.

Sano opened his mouth to reply, but Kenshin beat him to it.

"No, Kenji. Magic jugs would only make Kenji shorter, which is why you must never, ever drink out of one," he said, pointedly glaring at the reprobate who would instill such tripe into his child.

Sanosuke flinched.

Kenji remained oblivious, eyes glued to the bulge in Sanosuke's jacket where the "magic jug" had disappeared to.

And an ominous feeling settled in the dojo.

* * *

Stealthy feet crept through the kitchen. Otou-san was outside doing laundry, and Sano-san had left a long time ago. Now was the perfect time to look for a magic jug. 

A frown twisted his face. Otou-san had to be lying. Sano-san's magic jug surely made people taller. Why else would Sano-san be so tall? But Otou-san never lied…

And so he would find out for himself if magic jugs made people taller or not.

But first he had to find one.

Kenji eyed the counter tops calculatingly. He could almost swear that there was a magic jug that looked like Sano-san's on one of the counters. Now the only question was of how to reach the counter.

He studied the area for a few minutes before a brilliant idea popped into his brain.

Grinning cheekily, he scurried to his room and retrieved his futon, half-dragging, half-carrying it through the house until he reached the kitchen. Finally at his destination, he dropped his burden with a soft 'oof' and let the folded futon rest against the counter.

It was perfect.

Kenji clambered onto the futon, very happy that he was light enough that the stuffing didn't give way beneath him, and from there he climbed onto the counter top.

Victory!

Now, where was the magic jug…

* * *

By the time Kenshin found his son, Kenji had imbibed half of a gourd of sake and passed out on the counter top, dangerously close to Kenshin's collection of exceedingly sharp knives. 

Kenshin was not amused.

* * *

Kenji awoke to the sensation of a bazillion rabbits bleating in his ears. Or whatever sound usagi made. 

He groaned and writhed on his futon, whimpering pitifully for his okaa-san.

Instead the same wrong-arms-turned-right-arms from the previous night tugged him closer to the now-right chest and the now-right voice whispered comforts in his ear.

The comforts would have been better received had they not sounded like Megumi-san's grating laugh to his alcohol-impaired hearing.

With another groan of discomfort, Kenji dislodged himself from Otou-san's hold and slapped tiny hands over his ears.

"Urusaaaaaaai," he whined, voice raspy.

The arms withdrew briefly before a cup of water was held underneath his nose.

Kenji cracked open an eye warily.

"Drink," Otou-san commanded gently.

And so Kenji did, sipping carefully at the water as he was enveloped in warmth again.

"So, Kenji, what have you learned about 'magic jugs'?" Otou-san asked meaningfully.

"Magi' jugs hur' Kenji," the child croaked out. Otou-san rubbed soothing circles on his back.

"And what have you learned about Sano-san?" he continued.

"Sano-san issa liar."

"Very good."

The two sat in silence for a while, Kenji gradually overcoming his very first hangover, and Kenshin reflecting on his own very first hangover.

"Would Kenji like to hear a story?"

"Mm," he mumbled, too tired to form a proper response.

Kenshin smiled and recounted his tale.

* * *

A young child, no older than ten, sits attentively before his master, an imposing man with a serious face. The serious face is even more serious than usual, and the master is holding a large clay jug in one hand, ready to bestow knowledge upon his pupil. 

The big man has a small homemade cup in his other hand, which he fills from the jug and offers to his pupil.

"Every man should know the taste of good sake," says the master, looking at the child from the corner of his eye as he tilts the jug for a drink of his own.

The child is silent, eyes wide and round as he lifts the cup to his lips carefully and takes a dainty sip.

And promptly spews it out again, face slightly green.

As the child is bent over double, being violently ill on an unsuspecting plot of forest floor, the master shakes his head disgustedly and recites wisdom passed from Master to Pupil for generations.

"Cherry blossoms in the spring night, stars in summer, full moon in autumn, and snow in winter. That is enough for sake to taste good. If it tastes bad, then you must be ill."

The child shakily wipes his mouth on his sleeve, wide eyes slightly crinkled with pain.

"Am I ill, Shishou?" the child asks quietly, intently. The master shrugs.

"Perhaps."

The light in the wide eyes dims.

"Then again, perhaps your palate is not used to the strong flavor of sake."

Hope shines out at him, and he smiles inside.

* * *

He is alone that night, on his futon, in the house sequestered in the mountains. He is only a child, even younger inside than outside, and the things he has learned today are too deep; inscrutable to him. 

His mind is stuck on things he has heard today and things he has heard before.

Man or woman, it would be a shame to attain Buddha-hood without knowing the taste of good sake.

He has heard this before, when his world was shattered yet again, and then pieced together by a big man with a big sword.

He wonders why his body rejected sake, when Kasumi-san, Akane-san and Sakura-san accepted it.

He wonders if he is really a human inside. He wonders if he should be alive. He wonders if Kasumi-san and Akane-san and Sakura-san would be ashamed of him.

He rolls off of his futon and searches for the jug.

* * *

The next morning, the master discovers his pupil lying on the futon sleeping more deeply than natural, with a nearly empty sake jug clutched in his tiny hands. 

The master smiles outside, because there is no one to see it.

"Baka deshi."

* * *

Kenji giggled. 

"Baka deshi!" he slurred, snuggling into warmth and promises of rest.

Kenshin smiled, glad that his son has learned his lessons well and is not a fool.

And the sunset outside was brilliant and fresh, promising new wonders in the following day.

---

Glossary:

Baka Deshi - Stupid pupil

Kami - God, deity

Misoshiru - Soup made from fermented soy bean paste

Onigiri - Rice balls

Sake - Rice wine

Shishou - Master

Urusai - Noisy

Usagi - Rabbit

--

AN: This, actually, is what I _originally _wrote for Mi-chan, but the other one is so much cooler and was pretty much the prequel for this one anyway... So, um, Happy late birthday as well, Mi-chan! xD

Oh yes. Many thanks to Tori, Thistle and Megan for their help in beta-ing these two pieces!

And _curse you_, Mi-chan! I've gotten more plotbunnies for this story than I've gotten for Shockwaves in the last _year._


	3. Sustenance

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Rurouni Kenshin or any related characters, concepts or ideas.

_Sustenance_

Kenji awoke the following morning to absolute stillness.

"Otou-san?" he mumbled sleepily, rubbing his eyes with tiny fists.

There was no answer.

No scent of cooking food.

No sound of laundry being scrubbed.

No voices, no warmth, no… anything.

Confused, Kenji stood on slightly shaky legs and stumbled out of the bedroom, searching the halls for his missing otou-san.

It wasn't until he began looking outside that he discovered the reason for Otou-san's disappearance.

It was midday.

Vaguely, he could recall that Otou-san always went to market on this day of the week and usually returned with tofu and vegetables and rice and, sometimes, a surprise for Kenji. The surprises were the best part.

But it was midday, and Kenji had eaten nothing since he had drained the magic jug the day before. His stomach growled in protest.

Kenji, however, was wary of the kitchens after his less than enjoyable experience in them the previous day. Oh, what to do…

"Ah!"

Of course! There were always the cabinets! They didn't have magic jugs in them (at least if they did, _he'd_ never seen them), and there were usually things in containers that were eatable.

So he tottered towards the cabinets, opening one with eager hands. Ooh, there was a jar of something green and unidentifiable on the lowest shelf – was it a pickled… something? Probably. Kenji nodded to himself. Probably pickled.

Well, he didn't want something green and pickled today. Today he felt like… Wait. Now what was this?

His curious hands closed around a tin container with gold and black katakana printed across the top.

He couldn't read it, but he recognized the tin.

"_Choc'lit!_"

Impatiently, Kenji tugged at the lid until it came unstuck with an audible _pop_.

Oh, it was beautiful. Beautiful chocolate hidden in the pantry in a tiny little space that was probably meant to be so small that Sano couldn't find it. Considering how difficult it had been to open, it had probably languished in that crevice for a long time.

Kenji didn't bother to make these observations. He saw chocolate and did what most small children do with chocolate – he scarfed it.

This was an egregious error.

* * *

When Kenshin returned from his bi-weekly shopping trip, his sixth-sense – the one that all parents have as soon as they become parents – went on alert.

"I'm home!" he said to the silent house.

There was no answer.

"Kenji? Where are you?" he called, depositing his groceries in the kitchen.

A weak moan put his senses on hyper-alert, and he stretched his awareness of ki as far as he could, searching for his son.

He was picking up a groaning bundle before he even realized what he was doing, his rationale hidden in some distant corner of his mind.

"Kenji! Kenji, what happened?"

"_Choc'lit_..."

Kenshin's gaze immediately found the tin of chocolate, only a few pieces still remaining. He sniffed the tin. _Rancid_ chocolate.

Well… kuso.

* * *

Kenji's recalled only hazy bits and pieces of the ordeal. He could say for certain that his tummy felt awful and that whatever Otou-san had made him drink had tasted nasty, but beyond that the memories were a blur. 

"Kenji?"

Otou-san's concerned whisper brought him back to the present. Once again, he was on Otou-san and Okaa-san's futon, wrapped in Otou-san's arms. With a tired sigh, he snuggled further into Otou-san's chest.

"Story?" he asked softly.

Otou-san shifted so that Kenji was looking into his eyes.

"Alright."

* * *

The forest is silent.

He does not mind the silence. Silence is peaceful and soothing.

It is the growls of his empty stomach disturbing the silence of the forest that he detests.

Placing a hand on his stomach, the boy scans the forest floor for sustenance in the dying light of dusk. If he does not find something edible soon, he will have to spend the night with his insides churning on nothing.

He grimaces at the thought.

His eyes dart from place to place, eager to find food of any sort.

Ferns, brilliantly colored flowers, inedible berries, mushrooms, pine needles-

Mushrooms?

They are innocuous looking – white and round, plump, pasty bubbles of nothing. He has never seen this variety before.

Perhaps they are poisonous...?

His stomach rumbles again, and his logic flees.

* * *

Laughter echoes through the mountains.

The master, infinitely older and wiser than his eleven-year-old pupil, shakes his head in bemusement.

Tomorrow, he will teach his pupil about laughing mushrooms. Tonight, he will amuse himself at his pupil's expense.

The forest is not silent that night.

* * *

Otou-san chuckled as he concluded his tale.

"Perhaps tomorrow I will teach you to cook for yourself."

Kenji giggled in agreement.

"No mush'ooms or choc'lit!"

Kenshin nodded, inwardly thankful that his son would not have to survive alone and could laugh because he wanted to.

Father and son held each other, content to laze away the afternoon in stillness.

---

AN: Sorry for the long wait - all my muses died and my time got sucked away.

I guess one of my muses must have revived, though, because here we are. O:

Props to Misaoshiru for edits.


	4. Spice

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Rurouni Kenshin or any related characters, concepts or ideas.

_Spice_

The air hummed with an expectant energy the next morning.

Kenji was even bouncier than usual, almost managing to wriggle out of his otou-san's hold while his hair was brushed and styled.

"Kenji wanta make brefist! Ne, ne, wha' we gonna make for brefist, Otou-san? Ah! Usagi! Can we make usagi?"

Calmly, Kenshin ran the brush through his squirming toddler's hair. "We'll make breakfast together when we've gotten dressed and ready for the day."

"Hai! Ne, ne, we make usagi?"

A smile curved the corners of Kenshin's mouth as he answered. "I thought we might have steamed rice, misoshiru, pickled daikon, and grilled salmon, since I went shopping yesterday."

Kenji's excited nod almost dislodged the hairbrush. "Kay kay! Kenji like daikon n' sa'mon! Ne, Otou-san, issit easy?"

"I suppose. Rice isn't difficult, and misoshiru is just soup... and since I set the daikon out to pickle last night, that won't be hard, either."

"Can Kenji do it all alone?"

"No," Kenshin said flatly.

"Mou," Kenji sulked, crossing his arms and pouting.

Kenji tried to turn around at the strangled choking sound that came from behind him, but a sharp tug on his tiny ponytail kept his head facing forward.

"L-let's go make br-breakfast then, shall we?" Kenshin stuttered, making a valiant effort not to laugh at the almost mirror-image of his wife reflected in his chubby four-year-old son.

"Haaaai!"

* * *

"Alright, Kenji. These are all the things we need to make misoshiru."

Kenji looked at the spread of vegetables and ingredients laid on the counter.

"Ah! Onion! Issa onion!" Kenji exclaimed, pointing at the scallions.

"Mhmm. And the other ingredients are dashi, tofu, and miso. See?" Kenshin gestured to the items as he named them.

"Dashi, tofu, miso, onion. Izzat all?"

Kenshin nodded. "Yes. It's not too difficult, see? First we put all the dashi into the miso pot..."

With round eyes, Kenji watched his otou-san begin the breakfast ritual.

"Kenji wanna help! What next?"

Smiling, Kenshin said, "Next, we have to cut the tofu into blocks and put them into the soup. Here, let's do it together."

Carefully placing his son's hands onto the knife and covering them with his own, Kenshin sliced into the block of tofu.

"And then we move the knife over and cut again... and again... and then when we finish this way, we cut the strips into cubes. See?"

Kenji giggled enthusiastically, slicing through the block of tofu with gusto. "Fun! Otou-san, this's fun!"

Removing his hands from their protective stance, Kenshin reached for the rice. "Otou-san is going to start the rice now, okay, Kenji? That way the rice and the misoshiru can be cooking at the same time."

"Mmm," Kenji hummed noncommittally, dicing the tofu intently.

By the time Kenshin had set the rice to cook, the block of tofu had been beaten into a paste.

"…Thank you, Kenji. I think it's small enough now."

Kenji beamed at him. "Kay kay! What next?"

Taking a moment to think through the various dishes he wanted to prepare, Kenshin drummed his fingers against the counter.

"The salmon. We should grill the salmon next, while we wait for the misoshiru to finish boiling so we can put in the tofu," he decided.

"Kay kay! How we grill sa'mon?" Kenji's eyes were shining with anticipation.

"Well, it's not very difficult in theory... here. Let's do it together," Kenshin said, placing the fermented salmon on the counter.

"First, we cut the salmon into servings. See?" In a few practiced slices, Kenshin cut the salmon into perfectly sized filets.

"Can Kenji try, too?" the child asked, reaching for the knife.

"No, Otou-san already cut them all. But you can help me with the next part, okay?" Kenshin offered, setting the knife out of Kenji's reach.

"Hai, hai! What next?"

Kenshin quickly oiled the grill as he spoke, "Now we put the salmon onto the grill and cook it until it looks solid. Here, take a piece of salmon... there you go!"

Grinning, Kenji arranged the three pieces of salmon on the grill to his satisfaction. "See? Issit good?"

"It's perfect, Kenji," Kenshin affirmed, smiling.

"What next?" Kenji asked excitedly.

"Now... we put the tofu into the misoshiru," Kenshin said, a concerned wrinkle between his eyebrows as he glanced at the bubbling stock.

It took a joint effort to get all the mushed lumps of tofu into the pot. Even then, there were still bits and pieces strewn across the counter.

"Oopsy."

"Mmm," Kenshin agreed.

"…What next?"

* * *

Half an hour later, the rice was stuck to the bottom of the rice cooker, the misoshiru had been boiled (and one _never_ boils miso), the salmon was charred, and the pickled daikon had been squeezed so hard it was crushed.

Kenshin could think of only one way to salvage the breakfast.

* * *

"Oi, Kenshin! How's breakfast coming?"

Kenshin greeted his friend with a smile. "Ah, Sanosuke. Kenji and I were just about to eat."

Sano stepped into the kitchen and settled himself at his usual seat. "Well, I'm starving. What are we having?"

"Rice, misoshiru, pickled daikon, and grilled salmon."

"Sounds great! Itadakimasu!"

If Sano had been less absorbed in the food, he might have noticed the identical Cheshire grins sported by the father and son, or Kenji's stifled giggles. Unfortunately for him, he wasn't.

A very strange expression, somewhere between revulsion and bewilderment, crossed Sano's face before he spewed his mouthful back into the bowl of misoshiru.

"What- the _hell! _Kenshin, I thought Jou-chan was in Kyoto!" he spluttered, spitting out pieces of inedible breakfast.

"Ah, Kenji has inherited Kaoru's cooking capabilities."

The look on Sano's face as the meaning of that statement sank in was more than worth the ruined breakfast.

* * *

As breakfast had been a disaster, the three of them ate at the Akabeko instead. Kenji spent most of the meal picking various things out of his food and asking what they were and if he could try to make them next time.

Kenshin somehow managed to both keep his son happy and not commit himself to any more cooking lessons.

Sano made a mental note to hug Tae later. Or maybe pay off some of his tab.

* * *

"Otou-san?" Kenji questioned from his perch on Kenshin's shoulder.

"Hmm?"

"Di' you ever cook bad?"

Kenshin chuckled softly, running his fingers through his son's silky hair.

"Yes, I did, once upon a time. Otou-san's teacher believed strongly in the value of trial and error."

"Wha's trial an' err?" Kenji slurred, snuggling into his otou-san's shoulder.

"It's... it's where you try to do something one way, and if it doesn't work, you try again, and again, and again, until it does work."

"Nnn," he mumbled, nudging Kenshin's shoulder with his nose, "Story."

Kenshin acquiesced.

* * *

The day is bright and clear, but these are the only good things about it.

A twelve-year-old boy scampers through the woods, running over the ground and over the list of items must find.

Wild onions, mushrooms, fish, ginger, herbs. A four-course meal of seasoned fish, fried mushrooms, onigiri, and misoshiru.

His master has not been so sadistic as to require him to make the tofu, dashi, and miso from scratch, or find wild rice of his own. The other items, however, he must find, forage, and prepare into a palatable meal by sundown.

At least the day is bright and clear.

There, a stream to set traps for fish at. Fortune smiles today! Near the stream, there is a large ginger root. The boy tucks the root into his gi and resumes his search of the woods.

In a dank part of the wood, there are mushrooms and dill. He returns to the stream and discovers a fish in his trap, and wild onions growing at the riverside.

Perhaps there is more to be thankful for than just the weather.

* * *

The afternoon is bright and clear, but these are the only good things about it.

The ingredients were found and foraged faster than he had anticipated, but the recipes have been hidden. He could search out his master and beg for them, but he would sooner move a stone with a feather.

So he improvises.

* * *

The night is bright and clear, but these are the only good things about it.

The meal was a disaster. Too much ginger in the fish, too few herbs in the batter for the mushrooms, too much miso in the shiru and not enough dashi. Now he sleeps under the stars, his stomach empty and his spirit crushed.

The door to the house opens, and the master steps into the bright, clear night.

Waiting, holding his breath, the boy lies still, hoping his master will not approach and rail at him for his failure.

Footsteps come closer, closer, closer, stopping at his side.

Something lands on his chest.

The footsteps retreat, returning to the house.

And there is a bowl of fried mushrooms in his lap.

He smiles slowly, knowing that they are not his by the texture of the batter.

The boy bites into one.

And spews it back out again, choking on the horrid taste left in his mouth.

Still, he glances toward the house with humor in his eyes, knowing the true meaning of the gift.

Even the master cannot cook fried mushrooms.

Perhaps there is more to be thankful for than just the weather.

* * *

Kenji rested against his otou-san's shoulder, pondering on the story.

"Otou-san no like mush'ooms."

"Indeed."

"Mush'ooms bad?"

"Sometimes."

"Mmm."

And Kenshin smiled as he decided he was glad his son had people to teach him and would not have to fail as often as he could succeed.

The air hummed with contentment as the pair walked into the dojo, ready to face the day together.

--

Glossary of words _new_ to this fic:

Akabeko - The restaurant owned by Tae, at which Sanosuke often eats and seldom pays.

Daikon - A sort of Japanese radish. A really big one.

Dashi - A stock base for misoshiru, which can be made of anything from sardines to shiitake mushrooms.

Gi - Basically, a samurai shirt. Sort of.

Mou - A word of discontent, often used by Kaoru

AN: This has been sitting on my computer for almost a year. Egads.

I would have posted it a year ago, but my beta, misaoshiru, pointed out that the salmon would have gone bad if Kenshin had bought it the day before. So I resolved to replace it with an egg dish, which Kenji and Kenshin would cook together.

I never got around to writing it.

Today, I tried my hand at writing about them cooking tamagoyaki. Holy crap, that's complicated. It ended up munching through nigh 500 words and I wasn't nearly done yet. And besides, I liked the interplay between father and son in the salmon section.

So, I decided to see if it would have been possible for Kenshin to have bought some sort of preserved fish in the Meiji period.

Turns out, fish were mostly eaten fermented back then anyway, or else fresh caught, because there weren't any refrigerators until about half-way through Meiji.

Japanese people are weird. They fermented, like, everything. And they ate it. I really can't wrap my mind around fermented soy beans. Natto sounds positively disgusting to me.

But, I digress. With the addition of a single word I was able to save my story and spare you all the 500 words about cooking eggs.

What a deal.

I hope to finish this story off before 2009. Keep an eye out for the remaining two chapters of Kenshin/Kenji bonding!

- Jupe


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